


A Hallowed occasion

by melian225



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Before the wars, Community: HPFT, Godric's Hollow, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-03 23:54:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14580435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melian225/pseuds/melian225
Summary: Gellert Grindelwald gets a lot more than he bargained for when he visits Great Aunt Bathilda.





	A Hallowed occasion

Gellert Grindelwald was in trouble. Expelled from Durmstrang for what had really been just a bit of fun, his parents had not been amused.

“You are bringing shame to the name of Grindelwald,” his father hissed. “What were you doing with those Muggle-borns? You shouldn’t have gone near them anyway.”

Gellert sighed. All he’d done was an extension of what he’d always been taught – that pure-bloods were superior to Muggles and their progeny. What was the big deal?

“Whatever it is you did,” his mother said, “if you know the school will not allow it, then you must not get caught.” She shook her head in disappointment. “Expelled! From the finest wizarding school in Europe! I am most ashamed of you.”

“The neighbours are talking, too,” his father said. “Pointing you out as the one who is not good enough for Durmstrang. Pah!” He spat on the ground. “You must go. Away, far away, until the shame and gossip has died down.”

Something started ticking in Gellert’s mind. If he had to leave, then why not follow his most fervent interest? Why not go to England and track down those mythical and most magical of artefacts, the Deathly Hallows?

His mother noticed the gleam in his eye. “What is it, Gellert?”

“Mother …” he paused, wondering how to word it. “Mother, is it true you have an aunt in England still?”

She looked taken aback. “Aunt Bathilda? Well, yes, but why … “

“I need to go away, do I not?” he said with a smile. “Well, why not to her?”

She was clearly sceptical. “She is not used to young men such as yourself. She never married, never had children. What would you do there?”

He smiled. “But she is an historian. If I cannot go to school at Durmstrang, maybe I can learn from her?”

His father was clearly not swayed. “I am not sure what you are playing at, Gellert …”

He put on his most innocent face. “Playing? I am not playing, Father. I am most in earnest.”

They did not need much convincing.

 

****

 

Arriving in England later that week, Gellert looked at the grey sky and shook his head. True, the weather was not promising, but he wasn’t here for the weather. He was here for his great-aunt’s books.

Locating the house without difficulty, he knocked on the door, suitcase in hand. “Aunt Bathilda?” he called. “Are you there, Aunt Bathilda?”

It took a minute or two for her to get there, and upon looking beyond her slight figure in the doorway he could see why. His parents had not been joking when they said she preferred a solitary life; there were piles of books on every surface and all across the floor. His heart sank, realising his habits of neatness and order would not be attended to here. It would take half a day and a cut lunch just to get through to the next room.

“Gellert?” She looked him over. “Well, I haven’t seen you since you were a baby, but I’m sure it’s you. You have the look of your father.”

He gave her his most winning smile. “Aunt Bathilda. It’s so good to meet you at last. And thank you so much for agreeing to put me up for a little while.” He opened his case and located a glass basin wrapped in wax paper, full of German gingerbread biscuits. “My mother sends you this as a token of her appreciation.”

Bathilda looked delighted. “How wonderful, how wonderful. Please, please, come in. And excuse the mess,” she said redundantly as he stepped over a pile of papers precariously perched on a spindly-legged table. “I’ve been working.”

“Indeed?” He was still on his best behaviour.

“Yes, I’ve got a book I’m writing. That reminds me, don’t go in the study. I don’t like being interrupted when I’m working, and I don’t like my notes being messed with.”

“Understood,” he said, his heart sinking somewhat. While her initial behaviour had been promising, he may have to put on the full burst of charm to gain access to all her research. And if he wanted to find out about the Peverell brothers and their inventions, then he would have to gain access to all her research.

“You’ll be sleeping in here,” she called over her shoulder, heading up the stairs and dodging a few more books lying haphazardly on the staircase. “Cleaned it out for you specially, I did.”

“I am most grateful.” He tried to hide his disdain for the mess; he would be living here for a while, most likely.

“I expect you’ll get bored, though,” she went on, opening the door to a musty-smelling room that was, incredibly, devoid of books on the floor or bed. “Not much to entertain a young man here in Godric’s Hollow.”

“I am here to learn from you, Aunt Bathilda,” he reminded her. “I am not here to have fun.”

She gave him a gap-toothed smile. “We’ll see.”

 

****

 

Five minutes later there was a rap on the front door. Gellert had just finished putting his few possessions in the drawers and wardrobe provided, and poked his head out of his room, wondering who would be calling.

“I thought you said you didn’t have many visitors, Aunt Bathilda?” he said, curious as to who would willingly submit themselves to this house.

“I don’t. Not often, anyway,” she said, bustling across the ground floor towards the door. Gellert picked his way down the stairs, careful not to disturb any of the books lying there, yet wondering if his great aunt would mind if he tidied them up. She spoke again. “Unless it’s Albus, of course.”

“Albus?”

She smiled, then turned to answer the door. Gellert gasped as the light from outside filled the room, framed around a tall young man, maybe a year or two older than he, with auburn hair and twinkling eyes. His mouth went dry and he almost forgot how to breathe. THIS was the quality of young man in a hovel like Godric’s Hollow? Clearly he had misjudged the place.

Aunt Bathilda was beaming. “Albus! So good to see you. Remember how I told you my great nephew was coming to stay for a while? Come on in, meet Gellert.” She turned to him. “Gellert, this is Albus Dumbledore. I’m sure you two will have a lot in common.”

Gellert noted the way the other boy was watching him; an appraising gaze that ended in approval. He made his way across the room and took Albus by the hand. His grip was warm and firm and Gellert felt a shiver go all the way down his body. He hadn’t reacted like this to a boy in quite a while.

“Very pleased to meet you,” he said in his most practiced English, holding the other boy’s gaze and noticing how blue his eyes were. “I think we may have even more in common than Aunt Bathilda thinks.”


End file.
